


Playing For Keeps

by Fee_Folay



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Characters - Friendship, First Kiss, M/M, Plot - Bittersweet, Post-War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3743336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fee_Folay/pseuds/Fee_Folay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a mild slash piece, (PG) containing angst, drama, humor and a first kiss.  A young, impulsive but good-hearted Peregrin Took tries to set things right and ends up causing even more mishap.  Set in the Shire,  both pre-Ring War and post-Ring War: Pippin muses upon Frodo, Gandalf, and his first kiss with Merry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing For Keeps

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

_Gentle Readers,_

_Before labeling this story “complete” I consulted other writers and readers of hobbit fiction in hopes of discovering some general rule of thumb concerning the maturation rates of hobbits in comparison to humans. However, I found that the only consensus is that there is no consensus. Some feel there is little difference between hobbit growth and human. Others suggest hobbits mature at a much slower rate, their passage into adulthood coming much later in life. So, I have decided to compromise and set my dates somewhere in the middle of the most extreme suggestions. The flashback scenes in this piece are set in 1410. That would make Peregrin Took age 20 in hobbit years, but this information is less useful to the reader than knowing that I, the author, view this as corresponding to an early teen in human terms._

 

*****  
**_Shire - 1423_**

 

With a sigh, Peregrin Took rolled the green, woollen scarf into a tight ball and placed it in the dresser drawer. Another long, dark winter had passed. Spring was on the doorstep, and it was unlikely he would need the wrap again for some time. As he patted it down atop a pile of mittens and knitted caps, his fingers brushed against something concealed in the shadows to the rear of the drawer. Something soft.

Curious, he tightened his fingers around the mysterious bit of softness and pulled it free. A small bag of blue leather, faded and worn, with a seam unraveling along one side. Pippin smiled in recognition and hefted the bag in his palm. Something shifted inside, and he tightened his fist around the bag, feeling two hard lumps rotate under his fingers. Walking over to the small round window that let in a slice of bright, morning sunshine, he tipped the bag. Something cool and hard rolled into his palm.

A marble. A big one. A glimmer of rich golden amber sprinkled with flakes of shimmering mica. Pippin’s breath caught as he held the marble up in the beam of light from the window and watched it flare to life, afire with flickers of stars and sparks.

Oh, it was a beauty, all right, yet treacherous. Once upon a time, Pippin might have marveled that such a little thing could stir emotions so potent, but not anymore. Pippin no longer doubted the potential power of small things or small people. Pippin had learned - the lessons painful and hard won, but Pippin had learned.

The flakes of mica flared and died in the light…

“Like Gandalf’s fireworks…” Pippin breathed softly, feeling the weight of memory bearing down upon him.

But Gandalf was gone now, along with his fireworks, and their like would never be seen in the Shire again.

Pippin almost put the bag away then, almost shoved it back into the darkness of the drawer. He was loath to tread these particular paths of bittersweet remembrance.

But he also knew memories could not be hidden away in dusty shadows. And he owed it to those he loved to open himself to the sweet honey of happy times as well as the bitter dregs of loss.

Pippin rolled the second marble into his palm

An ocean in his hands. An onionskin of green and blue and white, foaming like a miniature sea captured forever in glass.

_“All green and blue and foaming. I should like to see it some day.”_

 

 

******

**_Shire - 1410_ **

The languid heat of the day plastered Peregrin Took’s limp, chestnut curls to his forehead. Squatting beside the crude circle drawn in the dirt of the mill path, he wiped the back of one hand across his brow, leaving a faint streak of dirt. The tip of his pink tongue peeked from the corner of his mouth as he eyed the scattered marbles inside the faintly drawn ring.

Five other hobbit children of varying ages stood about watching, careful to keep their hairy feet outside the ring. Pervinca Took, Pippin’s older sister, and Estella Bolger stood side by side, their own marble bags clutched tightly in their hands. Ferdibrand Took, the eldest of the group, tapped a restless foot in the dust, awaiting his turn. And Otho and Uther, the Goodbody brothers, stood close behind Pippin, bracketing him like bookends, their shadows looming across the playing ring.

Pippin fingered the shooter in his hand. It felt right: smooth and cool and lucky. Of all the marbles he kept in the little leather bag lying beside him in the dirt, this was his favorite - a beautiful onionskin, swirled with white and green and blue. Pippin’s cousin, Frodo Baggins, had gifted it to him on Pippin’s last visit to Hobbiton. “All the way from Minas Tirith in Gondor, City of Kings,” Frodo had explained to Pippin as they sat on the front stoop of Bag End. Frodo had traced a crude map in the dirt from his memories of one of Bilbo’s numerous books. “Here,” he tapped a finger in the dust. “A great distance. Gandalf brought it.” He had leaned closer over Pippin’s shoulder, watching the smooth glass shimmer in the light as the younger hobbit turned the blue-swirled marble in his hands “When I read in Bilbo’s books about the sea, I think that this is what it must look like.” Frodo’s voice had taken a distant dreamy tone as he gently touched the marble lying like a jewel in Pippin’s palm. “All green and blue and foaming. I should like to see it some day.”

Merry Brandybuck, another cousin and Pippin’s dearest friend, had received a marble too. An amber glimmer, in which the chips of mica caught the sun in rainbow scatters. “It looks like Gandalf’s fireworks!” the young Took had exclaimed in delight, and had even momentarily considered trying to convince Merry to trade - but no, he’d decided to keep his ocean captured in glass.

Later, a terrible thing had happened. Merry had come to visit Tuckborough for part of the summer and had let Pippin borrow his marble to play against some of the other numerous children who inhabited the Great Smials. Unfortunately, they had played for keeps, and though he knew it wasn’t right, Pippin had kept his own taw out of the game and used Merry’s sparkling little mica.

And had lost it to Ferdibrand Took.

Merry had been very angry, and hadn’t spoken to Pippin all afternoon. Pippin had even offered Merry his own pretty onionskin, but Merry would not take it. “No, Peregrin. That was a gift from Frodo. I would not take it from you.”

And Pippin had felt wretched, because Merry was upset, and because he’d called his young cousin “Peregrin,” which only happened when things weren’t right between them.

He swore he would get Merry’s marble back for him. But neither he nor Ferdibrand had played for keeps since then, for Pippin feared loosing his precious onionskin, and Ferddy knew Pippin wanted the snowflake back and wasn’t about to part with it.

However, Ferddy’s game had been less than inspired this morning, and Pippin was beginning to regret not proposing “keepsies”, especially since Ferddy was using Merry’s glimmer for his shooter and making a great show of taunting Pippin by praising the marble’s many qualities.

Pippin’s own ocean tinted shooter winked at him in the light. “I’m magic,” it seemed to say, and surely it was, for didn’t it come from Gandalf, himself? And he was a wizard! Couldn’t get much more magic than that, in Pippin’s book.

“Cunny thumb!” Shouted Otho, pointing at Pippin. His fiery red curls bobbed as he hopped up and down in excitement. “Gonna shoot sissy?”

“I wasn’t ready yet,” Pippin snapped in consternation, and knuckled down, making sure his firing stance was perfect. Imagine, Otho Goodbody telling _him_ how to shoot properly!

He wished Merry were here. Merry always gave him some quick word of encouragement before he took a shot. Sometimes Merry even squatted down beside him and pointed out good angles while whispering advice in his ear. But Merry was abed, having eaten a few too many green apples the day before while adventuring with Pippin. Pippin had eaten a few as well, nicked from the orchard trees, but he didn’t have the same taste for the sour, under ripe fruit that had encouraged his Brandybuck cousin to over indulge. Thus, Pippin had escaped the stomach upset that had sent Merry to the privy numerous ties that morning. He had wanted to stay and keep his cousin company, but his mother, Eglantine, had shooed him on his way. “Let poor Merry be!” she’d scolded “He doesn’t need a rascal like you underfoot at a time like this.” And Merry had moaned his agreement from the bed. Pippin secretly thought his mother might be less sympathetic to “poor Merry” if she’d known just _why_ he was feeling so wretched, but he’d obeyed her counsel, scampering off to see how much mischief he could get into without Merry’s assistance.

And _that_ was apparently a question that concerned quite a few of his friends as well.

“I still say I’m right.” Ferdibrand proclaimed, arms crossed in impatience. “If he told you to dance naked on the table of the great hall, like as not you would.”

“Would not!” Pippin protested. He jerked back on his heels in indignation, and his marble escaped from his grip. “Slips!” he yelped, watching in dismay as his marble bounced away across the dirt.

He reached to snatch it back, but Uther called out, “Dead lead! Wait for it!”

The taw slowed and rolled to a stop outside the ring.

“Went too far for do-overs,” Otho pointed out cheerfully, dancing a bit in the dirt. “You’re done.”

Pippin snatched his shooter from the dirt and surged to his feet with an accusatory scowl at Ferddy. “You figged my shot!”

Ferddy shrugged, as if Pippin’s accusations were of no concern and continued to speculate, “Merry leads you ‘round by the nose, far as I can tell.”

Pippin’s face flushed and he felt his ears turn to flame. “Not so!”

“He’s right, you know.” Uther exchanged a smirk with Ferddy. “All Meriadoc Brandybuck has to do is whistle and you go a'running like a puppy.”

“T’isn’t true!” Pippin stamped a bare foot on the ground for emphasis. “Take it back!”

The other children were trading surreptitious looks, and Pippin, sensing that they were leaning towards agreement with Ferdibrand Took, tossed back his head with a sniff. “You have it all back ways round. T’is me who tells Merry what to do!”

This brought a twitter of laughter.

“Oh really?” Pervinca snorted. Her brown curls bobbed as she gave a saucy twitch of her hips. “That’s not what you told mother when the two of you got caught nipping apples out of the barrels at the market, nor when you put that frog down Lilly Chubb’s dress!”

Pippin scowled at his sister from under his unruly mop, and wished, not for the first time, he had been born an only child. “Vinca, don’t be a cow.”

Pervinca responded by sticking her tongue out at her younger brother. No doubt she sometimes wished the same.

Ferddy was bent over the playing ring with Merry’s glimmer in his hand, setting up his shot. “All right then,” he challenged Pippin. “Prove it.” He bowled his mica down the center, narrowly missing the marble for which he’d been aiming.

“Snooger,” noted Uther with a sympathetic look and patted Ferddy on the shoulder. “Better luck next round.”

Pippin’s narrowed his eyes warily. When Ferddy told someone to ‘prove it,’ it generally led to trouble of one kind or another. “What do you mean, prove it?”

Ferdibrand rose, brushing off his pants, and shrugged. “You said you’re the one wearing trousers, and that Merry follows your lead, so prove it. Make him do something.”

That earned Ferddy a hard swat on the arm from Pervinca, “What does wearing trousers got to do with it?”

Pippin looked around the circle of young hobbits, noting the combination of expectant looks and skepticism. He nibbled worriedly at his bottom lip. Make Merry do something? What sort of something? It was true that Merry denied him very little, especially when Pippin resorted to pouts, pleads and doleful eyes. Still, despite his claims to the contrary, Pippin was under no illusion that his older cousin was subject to Pippin’s whim. Merry was the one in charge of Merry, though he might be talked into a thing or two.

“Have him put a frog in Bell’s lunch pail!” Otho urged enthusiastically, grinning widely at the prospect of the little Hornblower girl shrieking in fear. Bell was scared of everything that crawled, slithered, wriggled or fluttered in the Shire.

Ferddy shook his head. “Too easy. He’d go right along with that.”

“Raid Ol’ Man Bracegirdle’s blackberry patch?”

Pippin shuffled his feet uncertainly. “We already did that.”

“And you didn’t share?” Vinca cuffed him, hard. ‘That’ll bruise, Pippin thought, rubbing absently at his arm. But lazing in the sunshine with Merry while eating his fill of warm, juicy blackberries was worth a bruise or two. It had been a grand afternoon.

“Loosen the slats on the footbridge over Muddy Creek.”

“They done that already too,” grumbled Uther. That’s how our ol’ Gamma fell in.”

“Wait a minute,” Pippin protested, “That was never proved so!”

“Who else would it be?” asked Uther, temper flaring, face as red as his hair. “It had the mark of ‘Merry n' Pippin’ all over it.”

“Could have been lots of folks,” Pippin shot back. “Could have been you!”

“Not me. My pa would tan the hide off me if'n he caught me up to somat' like that.”

Otho nodded in earnest agreement. “Tan both our hides! With a switch!”

“Maybe the wood was just rotten.” Estella put in shyly, twirling a raven curl on her finger as she glanced at Pippin.

“Rotten my foot,” muttered Uther, but no one was listening anymore for Ferddy had come up with an idea.

“I know. I know.” He had that look in his eye that usually brought an answering grin to Merry’s face, and the question, “Ferddy, my lad, what are you thinking?”

“Make him kiss you!”  
  
Pippin’s eyebrows flew in one direction while his mouth fell in the other. “Kiss me?” he sputtered. He certainly hadn’t expected that suggestion. “How I am supposed to get him to…to… kiss me?”

Ferdibrand shrugged, and nonchalantly tossed the glimmer up and down in his hand. “You said you could get him to do anything.”

“Well, yes…but…” Pippin felt the weight of demanding looks bearing down on him.

“Tell you what…” Ferddy caught the marble and held it out towards the young Took. “You get him to kiss you, and I’ll give you this.”

Pippin’s eyes went round. The snowflake? Ferdibrand would give him back the mica? He swallowed hard. And all he had to do was somehow talk Merry into kissing him. He chose not to think too much about the actual act of kissing Merry. At the moment, the kiss itself didn’t seem that much of a concern.

Could he do it?

Maybe.

Probably.

Yes.

He squared his shoulders. “All right. I’ll do it.”

“And we have to witness,” Uther added hastily. “To make sure you don’t try to fib.”

Pippin’s pixie features crinkled in doubt. “He won’t kiss me in front of you lot, that’s for certain.”

“He might if he doesn’t know we’re about.” Ferddy leaned closer, drawing them all in. “Here’s the plan…”

 

******

 

Merry was watching him.

Pippin could feel the weight of his cousin’s gaze, thoughtful and measuring, as he and Merry tramped across the fields towards Sunny Brook, the picnic basket swinging between them.

“Pippin….” Smooth perusal in the voice as well. “Tell me again what we are doing.”

Tossing an ingenuous grin in Merry’s direction, Pippin explained with exaggerated patience, “Merry, my dear. I already told you. A picnic!” He glanced meaningfully at the wicker basket. “It’s a lovely day, don’t you agree?”

“Yessss….” Merry drew out the syllables, suggesting he was still awaiting something. Those canny Brandybuck features were hovering on the edge of a frown.

Pippin just smiled, all bright and honest adorable youth.

The frown grew more pronounced, the stormy eyes sharp and shadowed. “You’re up to something, Pip. Don’t think I don’t know it.”

Pippin tried for artless surprise. “Why Merry! I don’t know what you mean.”

Merry scowled at him in exasperation. “You only look _that_ innocent when you have some sort of mischief in mind.”

Pippin’s mind rapidly rifled through several possible responses. How best to throw his all too perceptive cousin off the trail?

He decided upon wounded confusion. Side track Merry with guilt. It had worked in the past. It was worth a try.

“Merry Brandybuck!” he stammered, allowing just a trace of hurt to colour his words. “How can you say that? What mischief could I possibly have in mind? I invite my favorite cousin out for a picnic under the trees because he was sick and stuck in the house all day, and I felt sorry for him and missed his delightful company and what does he do? Accuses me of being up to no good!” With a huff, he added a last bit of affronted sensibilities for good measure. “Well, that is a fine thing!”

Merry was still watching him, all keen, knowing eyes and shrewd mouth. He seemed to consider for a moment, then relaxed. His expression softened into a fond smile. “Well, all right then. Don’t tell me, you little imp. I figure I’ll find out soon enough. But I’m no fool, Peregrin Took. And don’t forget it.”

“Oh, Merry! I’ve never thought you a fool!” And that was about the first strictly truthful thing young Peregrin had said all morning.

******

They found a spot under the spread of a great oak and aside a hedgerow budding with delicate, yellow flowers. Though Pippin did his best to make is seem a choice based upon soft grass and lovely shade and - Look, isn’t that a lovely view of the brook! - it was, of course, a carefully pre-selected location. Above, carefully concealed in the branches of the oak, lurked Ferdibrand and Uther and Otho, while behind the hedge-row crouched Estella, Pervinca and little Pongo Proudfoot, who had decided to join in the fun upon hearing it from Otho Goodbody.

Pippin worried his lip a bit, feeling, for the first time, an uneasy twinge of apprehension and guilt. Oh, but he knew he was being terribly naughty, but surely it would all work out well in the end? Merry would either tell Pippin he was a nutter and refuse to kiss him at all, in which case they were right back where they started. Or he would give Pippin a quick buss on the lips and thus win back his pretty glimmer from Ferdibrand. And when it all came out, he would join in the laughter and teasing like everyone else.

Pippin glanced over at Merry, who was enthusiastically spreading a checked cloth out under the tree. There was a happy smile upon his face. His earlier trepidation had apparently been forgotten.

Oh please, Pippin thought, let Merry see it is all in fun.

“Come on, then Pippin,” Merry called. “This was your idea.” He dropped down on the cloth and began digging through the basket, discovering with some amusement the odd varieties of items that Pippin had decided were necessary for a proper picnic.

Pippin scampered over and flopped, belly down, beside Merry, who held up an empty jar, his eyebrows arching a question. “For butterflies and ladybeetles,” explained Pippin earnestly.

“And the bag of rocks?”

“For skipping in the river, of course!”

“The roll of twine?”

“In case we go fishing!”

Merry nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “And did you think to bring any hooks?”

Pippin’s face fell. “Oh…”

Merry laughed and ruffled his curls. “Never you mind, maybe we can snare us some obliging fish.”

He dug deeper and pulled out a silver-backed hairbrush. “Pippin? What use could this possibly be on a picnic?”

Pippin gaped in genuine astonishment, then glanced surreptitiously up towards the tree branches overhead. “Oops. I forgot I hid that there…”

Vinca was going to thump him good later, probably with her hairbrush.

Merry just shook his head and fetched a wedge of cheese, some bread, and bottle of apple cider from the basket. “Now, this is more like it.”

They settled back on the blanket and helped themselves to the repast.

*****

The cider had been tart and cold, the pickled eggs mouth-watering, and the salted pork delicious, the cheese rich, the carrots crisp, the strawberries as sweet as one could wish, and the blackberry cobbler a impeccable ending.

Pippin sighed and patted his stomach. It had been a perfect picnic, but the sun was high in the sky and the heat rising off the fields like a baking kiln. He and Merry had abandoned their waistcoats, Merry’s neatly folded to the side, brass buttons gleaming, Pippin’s tossed in a heap. Pippin found himself thinking how pleasant it would be to stand in the cool mud along the bank of the Sunny Brook and skip some stones with Merry. Or maybe take a dip in the chill waters. Or perhaps just a nice long nap. However, it was beginning to occur to him that the required kiss, the whole purpose for this little outing, wasn’t going to happen without some intervention on his part. Apparently this thought had also occurred to others, judging from the number of acorns that had conveniently _fallen_ on Pippin’s head over the past few minutes. Their audience was growing restless.

Probably just cross because they’d missed their tea, reasoned Pippin, a touch wickedly.

Oh well, best get on with it then.

He sat up and turned his attention to his cousin, who looked every bit as satiated as he, himself, felt. Merry was sprawled back on the blanket with his eyes shut and a faint smile on his face.

Just my luck if he’s gone to sleep, reckoned Pippin. “Merry? Oy, Meriadoc!” He picked up one of the acorns and pitched it expertly at his cousin. It hit Merry on the forehead and bounced off into the grass.

“What?” Merry groused, peering at Pippin from one bleary eye, lid still at half-mast. He rubbed at his head. “What’d you do that for? I’m trying to take a nap.”

Pippin shrugged and tossed another acorn back and forth between his hands. It was still bright green, its little cap fresh and tight. No, it hadn’t fallen from the tree without help. “I want to talk to you.”

“About what,” Merry mumbled, letting his eyes drift shut again.

With a flick of his wrist, Pippin chucked the second acorn at Merry. This one hit him square on the nose.

“Pippin!” This time both eyes were open and glaring at Pippin in naked irritation. “I can listen with my eyes closed.”

“No, you can’t.” Pippin picked up yet another acorn off the checked cloth and began rolling it between his fingers. “You’ll just mumble something a few times to make me _think_ you are listening, and fall right back to sleep.”

Merry was still glowering at him.

“Come on, Mer.” Pippin tossed the acorn up and down. “This is important.” He grinned and took careful aim, letting Merry see the acorn poised for release. “There are a lot of acorns under this tree, Merry mine!”

“Oh, all right all ready!” Merry rolled upright, huffing in annoyance. His honey-blond curls were tousled into wild disarray upon his head. He reached up from long habit to try and smooth them down with his hands. “This has better be good, you wretched Took. Depriving me of my rest. I’m just out of the sick bed, you know.”

Pippin clutched the acorn tight in his fist. In horror he noted his hands were shaking a bit and he shoved them into his lap. Nervous little quivers were jumping around in his stomach like baby frogs, but he took at deep breath and steadied himself. “Well, it’s like this…” He was surprised to hear his voice crack in ways it hadn’t done for a while now, and he flushed, clearing his throat.

“What is it, Pip? What’s wrong?” There was nothing lethargic about Merry now. Eyes filled with concern, he scooted closer on the picnic blanket and laid a gentle hand on the younger hobbit’s shoulder.

“It’s nothing really…It’s just that…Well, I was thinking…you know, about things…girl and boy things… and other things….” Oh dear, he was babbling, and Merry’s expression was growing more uneasy by the moment.

Pippin clamped his mouth shut, determined to give his brain a chance to catch up with his tongue. The last thing he needed to do was rouse the suspicion of his cousin’s formidable Brandybuck intellect. Steady now, he admonished himself. Stop improvising. Stick to the script, the well considered words he had practiced in his mind for the last day and a half.

But the problem with the script was that Merry’s part hadn’t been written yet, which left a fearful lot of unknowns.

“About what things?” Merry’s voice was soft, comforting, his hand warm on Pippin’s shoulder.

Pippin sighed and relaxed under the touch. This was Merry. His beloved Merry. No need to panic. “About…girls. And…ah…boys.” He managed to stutter. Actually, the stuttering probably wasn’t a bad thing. It added authenticity to this whole scenario. Shy young hobbit, considering his first tryst. Yes, stuttering was definitely to be expected.

Merry seemed to think so too, for he was smiling at Pippin in a most affectionate manner.

Pippin felt another wave of guilt. Here Merry was being so nice, so very Merry, and he…

No. He mustn’t think that way. It was all just a bit of fun, after all. And Merry would get his marble back in the end.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be considering such things?” Merry asked, an amused quirk to his mouth.

“Not by my reckoning,” Pippin pointed out, trying his best to sound grown-up and knowledgeable. “Seems to me if I am considering it, then I can’t be too young, now can I?”

Merry rolled this about in his mind for a moment, then nodded with a look of mock surprise. “You know, I think that actually makes some sense!”

Pippin thumped him on the arm, just hard enough to let it be known all such teasing would be met with retaliation.

“All right, imp.” Merry wrapped an arm around Pippin’s narrow shoulders. “What do you want to know?”

“Well…” Pippin paused for a moment, worrying the acorn in his hands. “About kissing.”

“Kissing?”

“Yes, Merry,” Pippin explained in his most patient voice, struggling to keep the grin off his face. “Kissing. You know, when two people snuggle close and put their lips together and…”

Merry yanked on his ear, but that was all right, because really, he had deserved it. “I know about kissing, you goose! What about it?”

“It occurs to me,” continued Pippin, still striving for a reasonable, adult tone, “That I have little practical experience with the matter, and should probably learn a bit more before ...ah… embarrassing myself in the presence of another. I mean, I one, day will be Thain of all Tuckborough. It wouldn’t do to be known as an inept kisser.”

Merry was gaping at him with an expression of surprise that was not at all feigned this time. “You are really worried about that?” For a moment his mobile features shifted with the effort to keep from bursting into laughter, but he managed to control himself by biting down hard on his lower lip. “All right, Pippin,” he replied, and there was only the faintest trace of mirth in his voice. “How do you propose we go about solving this dilemma?”

Pippin gazed up at him, green-eyed and guileless. “Teach me how to kiss, Merry. Please?”

“Teach…?” Something flickered in Merry’s eyes. Something uneasy, but it was gone in an instant, replaced with good-natured indulgence. “Teach you about kissing? Well, I suppose I could give that a try, seeing as I _do_ have a bit of experience, and no one has accused _me_ of being inept.” He grinned and added with a wink, “At least not to my face.” Drawing apart from Pippin, he folded his legs in front of him and turned to face his cousin.

Pippin rolled onto his knees and sat waiting expectantly. Was it really going to be this easy? Was Merry really going to kiss him without a word of protest?

Merry, however, was still a distressingly long distance away if one thought in terms of having their lips meet. So far, his kissing lessons appeared to consist of making some very unusual faces accompanied by even more unusual noises. “See, first you have to sort of pucker up your lips like this,” Merry demonstrated, blowing imaginary kisses to the wind. “That is the basic beginning kiss. Then, if you want you can sort of let your mouth fall open a bit, and maybe even add a little tongue.” He let his eyes shutter shut and began moving his mouth in ways that Pippin found both fascinating and highly comical. Apparently he wasn’t the only one, for he heard the snort of a muffled giggle from somewhere above his head, and the hedge row shivered as someone tired to stifle their laughter. Thankfully Merry didn’t seem to notice. He was far too involved entertaining some invisible paramour.

Oh, this wasn’t going to work at all.

Pippin rose onto all fours and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Merry’s. Would this count, he wondered, then decided probably not, since technically he was kissing Merry, not the other way around.

With a squeak, Merry fell back and landed on his elbows, gawking at Pippin. “What did you do _that_ for?”

“Because I want you to show me how to kiss, silly. Not sit there smacking your lips like a frog!”

“But…”

Pippin crawled forward and straddled his prone cousin, gazing down at him with a playful smile. “Kiss me, Merry, please.”

And that thing was there again in Merry’s eyes, and Pippin thought it might have been fear, but that would make no sense. Merry was hardly afraid of anything, certainly not of him! Then Merry took a quick breath and seemed to snap back into himself. The fear or whatever it was had been vanished, and the blue-gray eyes were clear again. Flopping back with a groan, Merry groused. “You are impossible! Kiss you? The ideas you get into that noggin of yours! ”

“Please?” Pippin implored, with his best I-am-too-adorable-to resist simper.

Merry shut his eyes tightly while he seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. Letting his breath out in a huff, he came to some sort of decision and opened his eyes. And this time there was something lurking in them that Pippin couldn’t even being to name, something hungry; however, Merry’s voice was familiar and light as he grumbled, “All right. But if I do this, will you please let me take a proper nap?”

“Deal!” quipped Pippin, and leaned in close. Merry raised up to meet him and their lips pressed together…

…for an instant…

Then Merry was pulling away.

And Pippin was staring down at him in consternation. “What was that?” he squawked, “You expect me to learn from THAT! My Aunt Florene kisses better than that! If that’s how you’ve been entertaining the lasses, cousin, then I’ve no doubt you’ve been called ‘inept’ many a time behind your back!”

Merry didn’t seem too pleased with Pippin’s critique of his abilities. His face darkened, “Pippin…”

But Pippin was not going to let his cousin get away with such a poor showing. He’d seen Merry kissing Desiree Chubb behind the plow shed, and he knew what he’d just received was a baby kiss, nothing more. Ferddy would never consider such a pitiful peck to be adequate payment for a glimmer all the way from Gondor!

And besides…there was something about the idea of kissing Merry that was doing funny things to his insides…funny, rather pleasant, things. He wanted a real kiss, and he was going to have it, or he wasn’t Peregrin Took, future Thain of Tuckborough!

He pounced on Merry, knocking him flat backwards on the blanket. Merry’s head hit the ground with a thump, and his startled yelp was muffled as Pippin fastened his lips on his cousin’s with all the tenacity of a cockle-burr. Arms wrapped tightly around Merry’s neck so he could not be bucked off or shoved away, Pippin plundered his cousin’s lips with enthusiasm if not expertise.

For a moment, Merry struggled beneath him, his protests stifled by the onslaught of Pippin’s mouth. Then, he stilled and a shudder passed along the length of his frame, a fine tremble, like a leaf caught in a breeze. Relaxing into the kiss, he wrapped his arms around Pippin and pulled him close.

And oh, that was nice…Merry’s hands roving over his back, and sweeping through his curls, Merry’s mouth opening to his, all warm and soft and melting. And Merry tasted of strawberries and cider and warm sunshine, and Pippin mewled in happy discovery.

It was Pippin who broke off the kiss, pulling back to stare down at his cousin in wonder. In all their many years together, he had never seen his cousin in quite this way - all honey gold and flushed and yes, beautiful… “Oh, Merry…” he breathed.

And Merry was gazing back at him with the same unfolding expression. “Pip…Pi…Pippin,” His voice shook as he stumbled over the name, and Pippin frowned in bafflement at the unshed tears glistened in Merry’s eyes. Hadn’t he enjoyed it as much as Pippin had? Why cry?

“Mer?”

“Pip…” and Merry reached out and cupped Pippin’s cheek tenderly, and one of the tears broke free and traced a shimmering path down his face. “I’ve wanted that for so long, love.”

Pippin’s eyes grew wide in understanding, and suddenly a dark shadow seemed to pass over him, sucking all the light and warmth out of the day. He shivered under the cold wind of approaching disaster. Oh no…

“Merry, don’t…”

But Merry didn’t heed the warning. His heart was bursting with the need to touch and to tell, and the words came tumbling out, all haphazard, as his hands roamed over his cousin, exploring new territory. “Pippin, I’ve tried to fight it, I have! I never asked for it, but I can’t help how I feel… and I’m so tired of pretending…and you…”

“No, Merry…no…” And Pippin was waving his hands frantically, trying to catch the words before they escaped, but you can’t catch words, no matter how nimble your little fingers. Pippin almost cried in frustration, because he _knew_ what was going to happen, and everything was about to go terribly, irrevocably, horribly wrong!

“Pippin,” Merry’s fingers traced lightly over Pippin’s bow mouth, and his words were soft and tender as rose pedals. “I love you…”

And anguish rose up in Pippin like a tide. “Oh, Merry….” he wailed, his heart and voice breaking.

And calamity arrived in a tumble of giggling, shrieking, babbling hobbit children falling out of the tree and bursting though the hedgerow.

Pippin rolled off Merry and jumped to his feet, holding his hands out, still trying to stave off catastrophe. “No…don’t…”

But they paid his pleas no more notice than Merry had, and dissolution rolled and broke over the two of them like an inexorable wave.

Vinca’s mouth was open and closing soundlessly, and she stood gaped down at Merry as though he had sprouted horns and a tail. “You _kissed_ my brother!”

Estella’s face was bright pink, flushed with either anger or embarrassment. It wasn’t clear which and even she seemed uncertain.

And little Pongo Proudfoot practically had his fists stuffed in his mouth, his eyes round with shock.

“Oh, Pippin!” Uther squealed girlishly, throwing himself into Otho’s arms. “I _love_ you!”

“And I love _you_!” Otho wailed as they danced in a circle, exchanging loud mock kisses.

Merry staggered upright, and stood dazed and immobilized under the onslaught of attention. He shot a frantic look in Pippin’s direction, his eyes full of questions Pippin could not bear to answer.

“Well…” Ferdibrand sidled up beside Pippin and threw a comradely arm around his shoulder. “I must say, you are a hobbit of your word. When you said you’d get him to kiss you, I didn’t bargain on such a show.” He tossed the glimmer in the air one last time, then pressed it into Pippin’s palm and slapped him hard on the back. “I’d say you more than earned this.”

Pippin dumbly stared down at the marble, then hesitantly lifted his eyes to Merry’s…and flinched. Oh, how that hurt.

Merry’s eyes leaked pain, like open wounds torn in his soul, and the look in them was one Pippin never wanted to see again… it turned everything inside him into a heavy, sick lump. He gasped, struggling to breathe past the ache in his chest.

Oh, Merry….

Merry glanced at the marble, then back at Pippin. “You…” was all he could manage. Yet his mouth continued to work in silence as though there were simply no words to express what he felt. Then his face seemed to crumple, collapsing in on itself. His whole body curled, like he’d been punched in the stomach and he bent forward, hugging himself hard.

“Merry…” Chin trembling, Pippin stepped towards his cousin, wanting to explain, wanting to take away that terrible misery.

But Merry shook his head, staggered backwards a few steps, then turned and pelted away across the field.

Uther and Otho were still dancing and giggling, shouting their taunts after Merry’s retreating form.

“Stop that! Just stop it!” screamed Pippin. “Don’t you see what you’ve done!” He gazed after Merry, his voice dropping to a whisper, “What I’ve done….”

Ferddy clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry. He'll get over it.”

But Pippin knew he wouldn’t.

The others were all nattering excitedly about what they’d seen and what Merry had said, and wasn’t it scandalous, and did he really mean it?

Pippin looked down at the glimmer, a cold lump of accusation lying in his palm…

Gandalf’s fireworks, he’d said, but the mica flakes no longer flashed with fire and colour. They lay dull and lifeless, trapped and dead inside the glass.

He realized he’d been playing for keeps again, only this time the prize had been his dear Merry’s heart.

And he’d lost.

Oh, how he had lost.

Pippin regarded the now empty field, the grass and flowers blurring with his tears. “I’m sorry, Merry. I’m so sorry…”

*****

**_Shire - 1423_ **

 

Years later, Pippin held the two shooters in his palm. They felt heavy with the weight of years and sorrows past. He had been so sure he would never find happiness again after that day he had betrayed his cousin and best friend. He had been certain his shattered heart would never mend.

But it had. A bit battered perhaps, but whole once more. And in truth, that it had only been the first of many events that would leave tracks of pain across his soul.

_“If you get to the end of your life, wee Peregrin, and there are no scars upon your heart, then you have never truly lived.”_

His Gran had told him that…but at the time he had been too young to understand. That innocence had not lasted long. Pippin’s heart had learned pain early and often. His poor heart. Yet another “small thing” that had proven much more resilient than he could ever have dreamed.

He gazed down at the blue tinted onionskin, hearing a beloved voice echo through his mind and memories…

_“All green and blue and foaming. I should like to see it some day.”_

“And was it all you dreamed it would be, dearest Frodo?” Pippin whispered, the tremor in his voice reflecting yet another tiny hairline crack that threaded though his heart at the sight of the marble shining like a blue star in the spring sunshine. He ran a finger over the cool surface of the marble, wishing he could caress the one who drifted through his thoughts. “Oh, Frodo…” He bent his head, feeling tears welling up, unwanted, but bringing a kind of relief. “You played for keeps with your soul…and even when you won, you lost…we all lost.”

“Hey now." Sturdy arms slipped around from behind, and a warm body pressed against his back. “Here love,” Merry’s breath murmured in his ear. “What’s the matter?’

Pippin pressed back into the embrace gratefully, letting Merry’s enfolding arms quiet his trembling. “I found these in a drawer…” he uncurled his fingers, revealing the two shooters nestled in his palm. “ And it got me to thinking about Gandalf and fireworks and Frodo and…”

“Hush. Hush.” Gentle hands petted his curls. “I thought we agreed, no walking down those roads alone.”

Pippin sighed. “I know, but it all just crept up on me.”

Merry reached out and plucked the snowflake from Pippin’s grasp. “Oh ho,” he murmured, twirling it in the light, watching the mica flakes glimmer. “Now _that_ one’s a troublemaker for sure.”

Pippin squirmed in Merry’s arms. “I think I’m the one who caused the trouble.”

He felt Merry’s chuckle vibrate against his back. “True, but that is one of the reasons I love you so. You do know that, don't you?”

Pippin frowned. “Because I am a trouble maker?”

Merry’s arms held him tighter. “Absolutely. You keep life interesting.” He took the second marble from Pippin’s fingers and let it roll into his palm to nestle next to the glimmer. “She’s a beauty all right. Frodo used to say it made him think of the sea. Do you remember?”

Pippin nodded. “I remember.”

“I never thought I would ever see the ocean, but we have. We’ve tasted its salt on our lips. We’ve seen the great sea, and the tall, white towers of Gondor, and the dwarf craft of Dwarrowdelf, and the far plains of Rohan and the trees of Lothlorien. We’ve seen a lot, you and I.”

“Indeed we have.”

Merry’s voice was soft in his ear. “And not all of it bad, dear one.”

“No,” Pippin let his eyes flutter shut, caught up in memories of other places and times. “Not all of it.”

Merry held him tightly for a silent passage of time Pippin measured by the warm breaths whispering against his cheek. He wondered where Merry had gone. What was he seeing inside his head? What places and people was he revisiting?

Then Merry stirred with a deep sigh, giving Pippin a final hard hug before pulling away. “You know what I think. I think that some memories, like memories of dear Frodo, and of Gandalf’s fireworks, and our first kiss, are good sorts of memories and not the sort to be frightened of. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Pippin smiled. He always loved it when his Merry talked like this, all full of wisdom and comfort. “Oh yes. I agree. I do.”

“Those sorts of memories shouldn’t be hidden away in a drawer somewhere. They should sit in the sunshine to be shared over and over again...” He gentle rolled the two marbles around in his palm, then set them on the window sill where they caught the light and flared to life, throwing colour and sparkle around the room. “There. That’s much better. Don’t you think?”

“Oh yes, Merry-mine. So much better!” And Pippin found tears in his eyes once again, but these were tears of happiness, not sorrow. And when Merry leaned forward and kissed him softly on the mouth, he felt yet another crack in his heart heal over with love.


End file.
